The Tragedy of Repetition
by Ambrose51
Summary: What is it like to see through the eyes of a murderer? A master illusionist who's turned his back on his Brothers, and a psychotic young half-breed girl who never had anything to lose in the first place, already know. Do you? Snippets of an idea.
1. The Subtle Taste of Blood

Author's Notes: As the title description says, The Tragedy of Repetition is just going to be a place to put various snippets and scenes of a fanfic I'm writing. It's unlikely that any of this will ever make it into said fanfic, but I went through the trouble of writing them, so I figured it wouldn't be too much trouble to post them up. There won't be any spoilers, at least any major spoilers, because the fic I'm writing has no definite timeline except the beginning and end.

**WARNING**: Everything I write tends to be dark, but this fic will be especially bad in that regard. So, if dark-fics aren't your thing, I suggest you stay far away from this, because it definitely isn't for you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Elder Scrolls. All of it is owned by Bethesda. In addition, the setting belongs to the Immortal Blood Timeline, but nothing I do will interact with the Timeline for the duration of this fic. It's merely contained within the setting. For those who don't know what the Immortal Blood timeline is, since I'm posting this in multiple places, it's an online RP that centers around the conflicts between various nations after the collapse of the Empire following the Oblivion crisis. All you really need to know is that Hammerfell, led by the city of Sentinel, defeated the Ruby Ranks of the Empire in open war, the Aldmeri Dominion has resurfaced under the leadership of the former terrorist group The Beautiful, and has since conquered Valenwood and is now invading Elsweyr, that Morrowind is in total chaos following the disappearance of Vivec and the Oblivion Crisis, which hit them as hard as it did Cyrodiil, and that the Empire has crumbled into almost nothing, with the main armies of man now being the Knights of the Nine, who are currently fighting the heathen Redguards of Sentinel to reclaim Hammerfell in the name of the Divines. All that really pertains to this fic is the bit about the Dominion, though. If you want to read more about it, the RP is still ongoing and has been for the past few years on Bethesda's official forums.

_In addition_, I make several distinct references to a certain series about magical serial killers in this scene. If anyone recognizes the references, congratulations! You've seen my favorite series of all time!

**The Subtle Taste of Blood**

A figure ran through the alleys of Sunhold. The city of the Sun, which looked so magnificent during the day, filled with prismatic colors, was now like a tomb, dead and foreboding without the slightest sign of life. After all, anyone with sense was inside, sequestered in their homes with as much security as they could muster to protect them. They didn't know why they were doing this, only that they must. It was a primal thing, more in line with the actions of the simple creatures of the forest than the proud species of Mer that had once controlled the great Aldmeri Dominion, and now did so again after freeing themselves from the chains of the Empire.

Of course, none of these thoughts were relevant to Elidor. He was a simple crime lord, after all, and not predisposed to thinking of politics or anything more complicated than the art of making others bow to his will with whatever crude methods are at hand. He was a worthless Mer, to be sure, and undoubtedly the world at large would be better if he were no longer alive, though he, and perhaps some others, would argue vehemently against that. It's too bad then, that neither he nor his few friends have a choice in the matter.

Though he did not know it at the time, he was already dead. Fate had judged him, and found him lacking. Now it was merely a matter of waiting for time to catch up with reality. However, since he did not know this, he continued to run. He knew the alleys well, had lived in them all his life, and he was a good runner. There was no way that demon-woman would catch him. So confident was Elidor that he failed to notice the figure running above him, sprinting across the rooftops.

Just as he broke out from the dark, foreboding alley and into a better lit clearing, one outside a safe house of his, in fact, the predator he thought he had escaped descended. One of the fools Elidor had gotten to guard this particular safe house, so typical of the sort of brutish thug that many would expect from an Orc, shouted a warning as his mouth caught up with his mind.

Elidor spun, looking up into the moonlight, and saw the eyes of his killer. The world froze in that moment, as red eyes, the color of blood that had just been spilled, met green, bright and full of life that did not want to be ended. A hand extended. And fire _exploded_ into the darkness.

In a rare moment of clarity, Elidor did the one thing he was truly competent at. He made things burn. The right hand of the falling demon-woman descended towards the fire, as if she could ward it off merely with a gesture, and for a moment, Elidor thought she would do exactly that. She was unnatural, after all, why would that not be in the realm of possibilities.

The fire continued, though. It impacted the woman's arm, flaying it, burning and crackling at her lifeblood and growing ever fiercer as it traveled up her arm, as if feeding on the rage and hatred of this person it had come into contact with.

But the woman did not stop. Her momentum was too great, and her bloodlust too high; and so, just as Elidor thought he had felled the demon-woman he had been fleeing from all night, her form passed through the blaze, much worse for wear, but still descending.

To his credit, Elidor did not scream. He did not panic and try to turn to run again, and did not try to call for his guards, who were much too far away to save him. Instead, he readied another spell, hoping to cast it before the blade that was now moving through the air like a pendulum could slice open his throat.

In this, he failed. However, the movement he was making to cast saved his life, as the blade passed mere millimeters in front of his skin as the demon-woman crashed into him. There was a heavy thump as both bodies fell impacted on the stone street, and a lighter sound as the dagger skipped across the ground, away from the now struggling pair.

Elidor, a fairly large and bulky man for an Altmer, automatically assumed he had an advantage. However, in his haste to free himself, he overlooked one very important detail. The demon-woman's arm was still on fire, and he had since lost control of the spell, letting it burn and consume all it touches. Such as his face, when the woman grabbed his head with her flaming hand, the magic fire having already burned the skin to ask and leaving only blood, muscle, and bone, which too would be reduced to nothing if the fire was not soon extinguished.

For the moment, however, the fire was sated in eating away at the flesh of its caster, and Elidor screamed in agony and the fire spread to his well-kept blonde hair, his expression twisted in a mix of pain and fear, even as the woman's lips quirked in a cruel smile. The thugs at the door of Elidor's safe house began moving now, in a vain attempt to save their master. Or rather, they would have, if their feet hadn't been locked in place with a wave of ice, apparently conjured from nowhere, even as the blood red eyes of the murderess turned to glance at them dismissively.

Elidor continued screaming, and for the first time that night, he said something coherent, "Please! I don't want to die!"

The woman looked back down at him, smiling as her eyes met his, joy in her expression despite how her right arm was continuing to wither and die. Her left arm, now free, as her legs were pinning the Altmer's arms to the ground, reached to her waist, where a sheath containing an exquisite knife rested. She drew it, the blade of the small weapon glinting in the moonlight and reflecting Elidor's terrified face back at him. Her lips quirked again, before she spoke, her voice smooth and calming in a clear dissonance to the situation.

"I want to kill you."

The blade descended, and Elidor's screams ceased as red fluids arced up into the air. A single swift movement had ended the crime lord's life, for better or worse, and his Orc servants could only stand and watch in horror.

Then, as if from nowhere, a figure materialized a few feet from the still burning woman and the man whose life she had ended. The old illusionist clicked his tongue with an expression of disappointment. "You shouldn't allow yourself to get such wounds, Alara. You're a better killer than that. It should have been easily avoided. Why did you let yourself be hit by that spell?"

The woman, now known as Alara did not answer. Rather, the response came as a wave of ice covered her now disfigured arm, silencing the hungry flames, and then melted as quick as it had been formed, leaving only a grotesque, twisted remnant of what had once been her right arm.

With her left hand, she sheathed her dagger once more without cleaning off the blood, which made the man's lips move downwards into a frown. The frown deepened even more when Alara, apparently almost in a trance, reaching down with the same hand towards the rapidly spreading pool of blood underneath Elidor's grievously mangled head.

"Alara, what are you doing?" The old man asked, now wary as well as concerned.

Again, she gave no response, but moved her index finger through the blood, making circles as if she were a toddler drawing. Then, she lifted her fingers up, and to the old man's horror, spread the blood she had collected across her lips. For one whimsical moment, the illusionist wondered if Alara had been turned into a vampire while he wasn't looking, but she did not drink the blood, merely leaving it spread across her lips in a smear. She threw her head back in almost ecstasy, and her eyes, now the same color as her lips, shifted towards the old man, filled with loathing. And then, in a sublime moment of realization, he understood. It was the first lipstick she had ever worn.

Her eyes, filled with hatred, but also now something else, more similar to love or appreciation, met his dull blue ones, and Verus, the seasoned killer that he was, understood the message. _It's your fault. You did this to me. And one day, your blood will coat my lips as well._

Thoroughly disturbed, Verus moved towards her and gathered her slim, now unresponsive form in his arms, and took her back to the shack they had taken as their own, even as the Orcs that had been watched now realized the ice around their feet had melted. Upon arriving at their destination, the old man cleaned the blood from her face, healed her arm as best he could with what Restoration magic he knew, and put her to bed. All the while, those same red eyes were watching him. Accusing him. So it was a relief when she apparently finally fell asleep, so that Verus could do what he had been meaning to do ever since he had picked her up from the corpse of her target. He began to weep.


	2. The Beginning of a Tragedy

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Elder Scrolls. All of it is owned by Bethesda. In addition, the setting belongs to the Immortal Blood Timeline, but nothing I do will interact with the Timeline for the duration of this fic. It's merely contained within the setting.

**The Beginning of a Tragedy**

Alara, though she had not yet taken that name, sat haphazardly on a railing, her feet dangling over the water as she stared at the rising sun. The bridge she was perched on was a glorious thing, the color of gold and silver that sparkled when light hit it. It was nothing but a lie, a self-deception. The Altmer, Alara's people, built such grandiose structures in an attempt to show their superiority and to get away from the hardships that life can bring, even for such a magically gifted race. These buildings were a distraction, a way to put the mind at ease. If you are constantly surrounded by beautiful and magnificent things, what reason do you have to worry?

There were many reasons for the people of the Summerset Isles to worry, in fact, the least of all being that death had visited a prominent politician that very night. Alara wasn't aware of that piece of information, but what she was aware of was that there was no one outside, no traffic moving from place to place. It was very late, she supposed, but still, there should have been at least some guards making their rounds or some drunken idiots making their way back to their homes. And no city, even the grandest, especially the grandest, could avoid having a criminal element. This was a curious thing, but not something that bothered Alara too much. After all, she liked being alone. The darkness was her friend, as was isolation. Through avoiding contact with others, she could escape from the visions.

Those horrible visions. When had they started? Alara couldn't remember. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she now had a respite from the death, the gore, the destruction. The blood, colored so much like her own eyes when she looked down to glance at her reflection, and had they always been like that? She didn't think so, but why was her head hurting so much make it stop _make it stop_**_makeitstop_****_MAKEITSTOP!_**

"Verus."

Alara's head spun around, her hair whipping with the motion, to glance at the voice. Behind her stood two men, both wearing hoods and cloaks made of the purest black. _That's stupid_, she thought. _Why would you wear black at night, in a city? It makes you stand out._ She considered just turning back to gaze at the water, which was so peaceful to watch, but something about these men made her spine tingle, and that was never a good sign.

"Verus, we need to leave."

The taller of the two men spoke again. His voice was rather high pitched, and Alara thought it was funny to listen to, although the warning in the tone didn't pass over her head.

"No," the other responded, and his voice was deep, and not funny, and made Alara want to shrink back in fear, but it had been a long time since she had been afraid of anything, not since that woman in the cloak, and the blood, and the _blood_, and the **_blood_**

The shorter man with the deep voice raised a hand, and Alara's body tensed, ready to pull a blade she had hidden under the sleeve of her white dress if it became necessary. She hadn't coated this blade yet, and as the visions slowly stirred, she began to wonder what the knife would look like after she had plunged it into the deep-voiced man's throat. She was willing to bet he wouldn't sound so intimidating then, and giggled at the thought.

The man hesitated in his movement, as if caught off guard at the sound of something that was like joy but clearly _not_. Then, he got over whatever thoughts had struck him and completed the movement, dropping his hood to reveal his face, old and worn by age. Alara immediately noticed the lack of pointed ears and realized they were foreigners. _Oh, so that's why they're stupid enough to dress in black._

The old man's companion gasped in outrage, and moved forward as if to grab the not-Mer by the arm, but the deep-voiced man merely turned his head to glance at him, and he stumbled back, as if he had been punched. Once he had recovered his proper footing, the high-pitched man apparently decided that talk would be more productive than action.

"Are you insane?" he began in that voice that Alara just found so _hilarious_, "You just showed your face to a civilian! While the city watch are at this very moment combing the city for us! How could you do something so irre-"

"No more irresponsible than just announcing to the girl that the city guard are pursuing us," the old man responded, lips pursed and irritation clear in his voice. The high-pitched man stepped backwards again and stayed silent, apparently cowed.

The old man turned back to Alara, and by this point she was growing bored with the situation. The visions were back in full force, and they were giving her a headache. She wondered... If she killed the two men like the visions showed her, would the headache go away? Her eyes, filled with a rising bloodlust, met the dull blue eyes of the old man, and something _changed_ inside of her. She pivoted, her arms pushing off the ground as she launched into the air in an amazing feet of acrobatics, her dress fluttering and hiding the movements of her arms as her feet touched the ground. The old man took a step backward while the high-pitched man took a step forward, his hands moving for something Alara couldn't see. Her mind automatically registered him as the greater threat, and even as the tall man, who she knew had to be a Mer at this point, likely a Bosmer (_He's too slim. Like a woman!_), drew his weapon, a short sword she now saw, Alara's hands blurred.

To be fair, the Bosmer was rather fast. He wasn't a professional assassin for nothing after all. However, his skills had always been with the bow and the spear. The former had been shattered in the initial chase, and the latter he had not been able to bring. As a result, his sword was only half out of its sheath when he felt the impact of two throwing knives hit his chest.

Alara frowned as the slim Mer stumbled back, dazed but not dead. Her knives had fallen to the ground, clean of the crimson liquid Alara was seeking. _He has armor._ "Then let's go lower!"

The Bosmer was brought back to reality at the volume of the girl's voice, so soft and yet so disturbingly loud in his ears, and he could only stare in amazement as the girl he had thought nothing more than an innocent civilian sprinted towards him, another dagger held in her hands. He fully drew his sword and raised it for a swing that would probably cleave the tiny Altmer half-breed in two. Unfortunately, when the blade descended, Alara merely side-stepped and plunged her dagger into his stomach. The red lifeblood she had been seeking finally started to trickle out, but it wasn't fast enough, not a large enough amount for her. She withdrew the blade even as the Bosmer gasped in pain and tried to back up to get more space. In one fluid motion, she flipped the dagger between her fingers, blood flicking into the air as she did so, and brought it down into the Mer's neck. Something vaguely like a gurgle erupted from the slim man's lips as the hood finally fell, revealing a youthful, round face that was unmistakably Bosmer. Green eyes stared at her in shock as the man fell backwards, thumping against the ground.

Alara spun, and looked towards the old man, but he hadn't so much as moved. He was just watching, staring with an intensity that unnerved Alara, even as she moved her right hand to draw the dagger from her waist. Before she could, she felt something impact her neck, and darkness claimed her.

Verus stood behind the now still form of the young Altmer girl even as the fake version of him disintegrated into nothingness. He glanced over to Cingaer, who was still gurgling out undistinguishable words, likely pleas for help. It had been an excellent blow, and certainly a fatal one without treatment. It was definitely beyond Verus's limited healing abilities, at least. He moved over to the dying man, who had an arm raised as a rictus of pain passed over his face. Verus sighed as he stared down at him, his eyes showing some remorse, even if no other part of him did.

"I'm sorry Cingaer, you were a good friend. Unfortunately, you were a horrible ally."

Verus kneeled down next to him and removed a dagger from inside his cloak.

"You understand. I can't help you and if the city guard finds you, they might be able to treat that wound. That's simply not acceptable. Though, even if Fate has found you lacking, at least your death wasn't in vain."

Verus glanced back towards the unconscious form of the unknown girl.

"I have a feeling you've contributed to something... Great."

Verus raised the dagger, the same one he had received from the one who had originally recruited him, and plunged it into his Brother, ending his life. As the last bits of rage left Cingaer's eyes, Verus turned to the girl who had just taken down a member of the Dark Brotherhood (_Admittedly a novice, but still._), and pondered.


	3. The Destruction of a Dream

_**The Destruction of a Dream**_

_Not good._

These were the thoughts of Verus Terentius as he viewed the situation around him. It had been several months since he and Alara had been forced to flee Sunhold in desperate circumstances, but he had thought they would be free from pursuit as soon as they left the area around the city. Not so, apparently, because almost as soon they had walked into Dusk, which had been an annoyingly long walk to make with a recently inflicted burn on your face, they had been surrounded by a group of Mer and Orcs, likely mercenaries in the employ of the person they were fleeing from._ _Damn Altmer communication magic! I should have taken this into account.__

Armed with steel and armored in mithril, the ten warriors could very well spell the doom of the unlikely pair. And as Alara fell, having been backhanded by a soldier with a steel gauntlet, which might have broken her jaw, Verus realized their chances had just gotten much worse._ _Of all the times to not be able to cast, you idiot girl. Why would you blindly charge armored enemies?__

Verus moved slowly backward, his illusion spell that was hiding his presence still in effect. What he was doing wasn't an invisibility spell, not really. He had never had much skill for that particular ability. Instead, he was layering an illusion over the entire group of them, changing their sight to allow him to blend into the background. It was a simple enough spell to use on one person, but casting it on ten mercenaries, as well as the surrounding crowd, was using up every bit of concentration Verus was capable of. Even so, if he moved too quickly or made a sudden movement, the illusion would be disrupted, and he would be spotted.

He eyed the mercenaries, who were now surrounding Alara's body and looking carefully around, trying to find the man they knew had hidden himself somewhere in the surroundings. A very perceptive person would spot Verus's position no matter how skilled he was at concealing himself, and the Imperial realized his time was running out. He had to make a decision.

On the one hand, it would be utterly insane to try and save the girl. She was surrounded by ten well armed and armored solders, odds that clearly spelled death for Verus no matter what action he took. The more intelligent decision was clearly to simply back away and fade into the environment, which he was already in an excellent position to do, so long as he moved carefully. It would mean abandoning Alara to whatever fate was awaiting her with the mercenaries, but was her life really more valuable than his own?

On the other hand, if he abandoned this girl, what reason would Verus really have to continue? He had abandoned the Brotherhood, abandoned the only family he had ever known, and had taken up the training of this burdensome girl in the art of killing as his raison d'etre. If he left her to die, or perhaps worse, he would really be killing himself as well. He didn't have much longer to live, after all. He was already old, and his body was beginning to buckle under the injuries he had collected over the years.

So, in an action that the Verus of two years ago would have called completely idiotic, he dropped his illusion and revealed himself to the mercenaries, drawing the fine, silver sword he had brought with him from Wayrest simultaneously. He watched as the soldiers turned towards him, but continued watching their surroundings. They were to apprehend a skilled illusionist, after all. It was possible, even likely, that the man in front of them was merely a trick.

One of the soldiers, apparently spurred on by the whispers of his comrades, moved forward towards Verus, his steel longsword held in front of him in a careful, probing stance. The man had good posture, Verus noticed. These men were definitely professionals. Nevertheless, Verus's lips twitched upwards in a mockery of a smile. They should have attacked him at least two at a time.

Verus began casting, and the nature of the world _changed_. The soldier, one of the two Orcs in the group, spun around. He had clearly heard one of his compatriots scream for help, but they were all looking at him in alarm. Which meant...

Verus lopped off the head of the Orc and continued walking forward, even as the headless body collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The observant person would notice that none of these movements made even the slightest sound.

"Fool should've worn a helmet," Verus mockingly called to the fallen Orc's compatriots, even as two more began moving forward, one wielding a sword, the other a spear. The rest of the mercenaries looked concerned, but stayed where they were. Someone had to remain to insure the girl didn't wake up after all, and illusionists could be tricky, as had just been demonstrated. It would be best not to attack all at once and fall into a trap, in their minds.

The spearman shifted to the right as the swordsman continued forward, using the length of his weapon to keep Verus from maneuvering to the left. Instead of moving to attack, or even to defend, Verus raised his free hand and pointed it, palm out, at the swordsman, who immediately covered his face with a cry. The spearman narrowed his eyes and pushed the unaware swordsman to the ground with the shaft of his spear even as a silver blur swept through the air where his neck had been. The swordsman struck out wildly with his weapon, and Verus was forced to back up, not wanting to be impaled or cut open by a lucky swing.

The assassin frowned. Obviously the spear-wielder had fought an illusionist at some point in the past if he had so easily disregarded the fire spell that had distracted the swordsman. Or perhaps the mercenary simply hadn't been able to see the logic in a supposed illusion specialist being able to use a destruction spell of that caliber. Whatever the case, he would have to be watched carefully.

Undeterred, Verus quickly cast again, and where there had once been one hooded assassin there were now three. They quickly moved to try and encircle the two mercenaries, the swordsman having just gotten back up and filled with anger at having been humiliated. He tried to step forward to strike at one of the figures, but the spearman took ahold of his shoulder as his eyes narrowed further at the trick. He turned his head slightly and called back to his companions, who were watching with interest.

"Is the real one in front of me, to my left, or to my right?"

One of the Mer, confused by the question, pointed to the left. If the swordsman had attacked the center figure like he had been planning, he would have been impaled from the side. The spearman smiled in victory, and both figures turned to address Verus, who cursed under his breath. The spear wielding Mer had correctly assumed that he couldn't affect all of the mercenaries at the same time and still fight. That one was making this battle much more difficult than it had any right to be.

_Then again..._

"He knows we can recognize his tricks. He's done for now. You attack, and I'll back you up," the swordsman heard his companion whisper. The swordsman smirked and nodded slightly in acknowledgment before breaking out in a sprint towards Verus, who alarmedly scrambled backwards. The swordsman brought his sword back in a mighty two-handed swing which would surely either kill the assassin or shatter his sword if he tried to block. And if he managed to dodge, well, that's what the spearman was there for.

It's unfortunate for the swordsman that nothing would go as planned. In fact, had he been more attentive, which he should have been given past examples, he would have noticed the absence of sound coming from behind him. Including the absence of any sort of warning that might have come from his compatriots. So, when a silver blade that definitely hadn't been there a moment before sliced through his wrists where he wore no armor, lopping off his hands, the Mer who had once been so confident before could only stare in shock at the stumps where his hands had been, even as he stumbled and fell forward into the dirt.

Verus could not take time to appreciate his handiwork, however, for as soon as the Mer who he had just disabled began to howl in pain, the spearman was on him, sweeping his weapon in a wide arc. Verus was forced to throw himself backward to the ground, and as the steel spear-tip passed over his head, he could see four more of the mercenaries moving to finish him.

The spearman, having completed his arc, brought the weapon back in a reversal of the same movement, intent on simply killing the illusionist. The Imperial was obviously too dangerous to be allowed to live, and would probably engineer an escape of some sort if they took him captive. He would take the penalty to his own paycheck for the death, since it would be better to have less money and be alive, than be killed or maimed in whatever scheme the illusionist would come up with.

It was at this point that Verus panicked. Seeing that spear-tip coming towards his throat, as well as more of the soldiers who might very well be on the same caliber of this one, was a bit too much for him to take with his typically cool attitude. So, he resorted to a desperate, all-or-nothing move. He lashed out with every bit of magicka he had in his body and the world _shattered_.

The spearman never stood a chance. One moment, his spear had been poised to take the head off of the treacherous snake of a mage, and then, he was on the ground in a pool of his own vomit, comatose and suffering from ear and nosebleeds. No one would ever realize what exactly had happened to him, but the four Mer who had been moving to assist got a small taste as they stumbled backwards, one vomiting in his helmet as the others dropped to their knees, eyes scrunched up and covering their ears. A horrible noise, a screeching sound beyond human recognition continued to echo in their minds as the visions that had been so _wrong_, with objects and lines and forms that made no sense and _shouldn't exist _in any sane and right world continued to flash over their eyelids.

As the four mercenaries stumbled about, trying to regain their footing despite their destroyed equilibrium, one of the remaining three who had been standing near Alara moved forward with a purpose. Like the two with him, he had been unaffected by whatever had just disabled their allies, and he had a clear idea of just what he wanted to do to the currently unmoving wizard. He was the second and last of the Orcs in this particular mercenary bands, otherwise made up only of Altmer, and he was also the only one carrying a significantly heavy weapon. A warhammer, in fact, and much like how a blow from a warhammer was blunt, yet devastating, so was his thought pattern. Why not simply break all of the illusionist's limbs? That way, he'll be in too much pain to concentrate enough to cast.

With this belief in mind, the Orc marched past his comrades, who were still not quite back in touch with reality, and moved to stand over the fallen Imperial. Luckily for him, or perhaps unluckily depending on your point of view, he had fallen unconscious from such a massive expulsion of magicka. This had the benefit of keeping the spell he had thrown at the surrounding area in a wild fit from affecting his own senses, which could very well have happened since he hadn't been nearly as careful while casting as he should have been. However, while he had been saved from the same fate as the spearman, he was now completely vulnerable, as the Orc was about to prove.

The Orc raised his warhammer in the air, and brought it down in a heavy blow on Verus's unarmored kneecap. The sound of bones splintering and cracking was loud enough to overpower even the continuing screams of the handless swordsman, who's state had certainly not been improved any by Verus's spell. The Orc then did the same to Verus's opposite kneecap, with similar results. If he had been awake, the Imperial likely would have been screaming in agony, and while he had suffered horrible wounds in the past, as the burn scar on his face demonstrated, they were nothing like this. This wound was one that would never heal, no matter how much restoration magic was put into it, and would never be able to be concealed, no matter the power of the illusion spell. It was a truly crippling blow to a master of illusion, and would insure he would never be capable of any sort of serious combat again.

The Orc brought the warhammer up again, planning to bring it down a third time on Verus's elbows, but paused mid-swing when he heard something vaguely like an explosion behind him. He stared down at the illusionist for a moment, wary of turning in case it was another trap, but finally decided that this Verus was definitely the real one.

The warhammer wielding Orc turned around just in time to receive a lightning bolt to the chest. The magical blast of blue electricity was so powerful, and had so much force behind it, that it actually lifted the Orc off the ground and threw him several feet away, where he fell in a still-twitching heap as an unknown amount of electricity coursed through his mithril armor.

The other mercenaries were already dead, having received a lethal dose of electricity from the initial shockwave, which had caused the exploding noise that the Orc had heard earlier. In the epicenter of the dead bodies and now fleeing civilians, who had been standing and watching everything in a sort of sick fascination, was Alara. Rage was clear in her eyes and her lips were twisted in a feral snarl, even as blood dripped from her mouth where she had been backhanded at the start of the confrontation. A massive bruise was already beginning to form on her lower jaw, but Alara paid her own condition no mind as she stalked forward, stepping over Verus's unmoving body without even pausing to look at his condition. She moved to stand over the fallen Orc, who was obviously still semi-conscious and was gasping for breath, but was not able to move, his nervous system having suffered horribly from the shock spell. The place where the spell had hit was still smoldering, smoke rising into the air even as Alara stared down dispassionately into the fallen warrior's eyes. She moved her hand, palm down, over his body, and a torrent of fire erupted from it, engulfing the body of the Orc that had the nerve to dare harm her, and hadn't even had the decency to end her life.

That done, she turned to the fallen form of Verus, who was still not even close to regaining consciousness, and eyed what surrounding people that had not fled, waiting to see what she would do. She moved over to the illusionist's body and began dragging it away from the city, not saying a word, and the people parted for her. It would be a long time before Verus would wake up and began screaming in pain, as Alara had not taken the time to treat his wounds. Instead, after eventually stopping under a tree that provided, in her opinion, a rather relaxing amount of shade, she would stare at his face, casually fingering the hilt of the dagger at her side.

When Verus later asked why she had done nothing to help him, she refused to respond, merely staring at him with those frightening eyes of hers. Verus would never ask that question again.

A/N: Let's just assume that a shock spell can actually do what I just described, regarding the Orc, since I have no idea whether that's actually possible or not.

On a different note, credit for the idea of the communication crystals, which you may have noticed at the beginning of this snippet, goes to Woolymammoth and I am the Walrus!

And on a different note, I actually had a lot of trouble writing this scene. I hope it was as clear as I imagined in my head, but I somehow have to think it's more convoluted than it should be.

Also, a note just for you folks? I really hate the formatting on this site.


	4. The Sin of Existence

****The Sin of Existence****

Verus eyed the sleeping form of the half-breed girl, and wondered what had possessed him to do any of this. She was already causing more trouble for him than she was worth, and with the amount of magicka he had to pour into constantly keeping her under an illusion, he barely had any left to use for himself. If he ever had to fight, he would have no choice but to drop the spell and let those visions of hers take hold again, and there was no way of telling what the result of that might be. For all he knew, she might try to kill him a third time.

He could only gain a respite from the draining effects of the spell in moments like these, when she was asleep, which came far less often than he would have hoped. For whatever reason, the girl slept a frighteningly little amount, and was an extremely light sleeper at that. You'd think she expected him to try and kill her in her sleep or something.

It was very annoying, frankly. Her sleeping habits were forcing him to get less sleep himself, since there was no way he would sleep while she was awake. He might not have a plan to kill her in her sleep, but he was certain she had one for him. The girl hated him with a passion he had never before seen, which was especially noticeable given that it just seemed to disappear at times, when she would act like a little girl on a trip with an older brother. It was creepy, and Verus was beginning to wonder just what was wrong with the girl to make her do such things. Certainly, Verus had dealt with the insane before. He had both worked with them, as it took a certain kind of person to join the Brotherhood, and assassinated them, since the insane tend to pick up facts no one would expect of them. This girl, though, was like nothing he had ever seen before.

The visions were one thing, and dealt with easily enough. An illusion spell covering her vision was enough to silence those pesky things, and to his knowledge she didn't hear any voices, so there was no reason to make the spell any more complex than it already was. It was already taking up enough of his concentration and magicka reserves as it was, since exactly replicating reality, but with the subtle change necessary for her to recognize that it's not reality, yet also have it not be something intrusive enough to make her instinctively throw the spell off, was a difficult enough proposition. Add in her occasional mood swings, which could range from totally passive, to trying to claw his eyes out, and he was thoroughly aggravated, since he had to cast a spell to pacify her whenever such madness would take her.

It wasn't simply all of that, however. If it had been, Verus would never have taken her as an apprentice in the first place, or if he had, he would have simply left her face down in a ditch somewhere with a knife in her back by this point. There were two things that were preventing him from doing something similar, no matter how cathartic it might be. The first was her memories. There were a great deal of inconsistencies there, things that made no sense, yet made him feel like he was missing a piece of a much greater puzzle. To begin, she had clearly already known magic before Verus had begun to instruct her. While all she seemed to be talented at was destruction magic, and there was a _great_ deal of talent there, she had picked up the basics of casting and the nature of magic with a speed that only one with prior experience could. There was a simple enough explanation for that. She was obviously from a noble family. That didn't explain where her parents or possible siblings had gone, why she had been living in the streets for apparently as long as she could remember, or why she could no longer cast the magic she had learned previously, which Verus suspected had been more than a few novice level spells. No, the speed with which she picked up on all the destruction spells Verus could give her, in addition to her apparently endless pool of magicka could only signify that she had been practicing magic for a long time, and had likely been using advanced spells, which at her age was absolutely ridiculous.

Despite all of that, she seemed to have no talent for anything but destruction. She failed utterly at illusion, which, and Verus would admit this only to himself, was a rather large disappointment to him. She couldn't seem to cast the most basic of alteration spells, which Verus found odd, since to him destruction and alteration had always seemed to have a very similar starting point when casting, and so should have been an easy transition to make. Her abilities with restoration were more impressive, in the same sense that natural disasters are impressive. Verus would still be willing to eat rabit, but that image would always be in his mind...

He hadn't tried mysticism or conjuration yet, he supposed, but those were also the two he was most wary of teaching her. Mysticism had always been the most complicated of the magical arts to learn, since it was more an amalgamation of all magic that people simply don't understand. Frankly, Verus himself didn't understand it much himself, though he supposed teaching her how to use telekinesis wouldn't result in anything catastrophic. He would never dare to teach her something like a soul trap spell, however, and it was for this same reason that he would never explain the art of conjuration to her. The very thought of teaching a clearly insane, magically powerful girl like Alara how to summon Daedra sent a chill down his spine, as the memories of the Oblivion Crisis were still quite clear in his mind.

He shook himself clear of those disturbing thoughts as him mind turned back to the original topic. What had it been? _Oh yes, the strangeness surrounding her._

In addition to her odd level of competency (or incompetency) with magic, there were her eyes. They were usually the first thing someone noticed about her if they could see her face, and they were indeed entrancing, yet horrifying at the same time. There was something not right about those eyes. Verus wasn't entirely sure what it was, but they seemed to cause an instinctive fear inside of people. Verus didn't notice it himself, but the common people did, and over the past few weeks he had observed how civilians shrunk away whenever she approached, merely because they had looked into her eyes. It was unnatural. In fact, Verus suspected it was something magical, perhaps similar to the effects the eyes of the Khajiit could provoke. The red coloring of her eyes was another thing of note. At first, Verus had simply thought that her father had been a Dunmer, or perhaps that there was simply some Dunmer blood that ran in her family. However, the more he thought about it, the less it made sense to him. After all, why would she only receive the red eyes? Why not a darker skin tone or a more silver or black colored hair? It simply didn't make sense to him.

Then, there were also the things she would occasionally mutter. Occasionally, when her mood would take a shift to submissiveness, she would say things. Usually just gibberish, but you could occasionally make out coherent words if you listened closely enough. She seemed to be saying something about her parents, or at least that's all that Verus could make out. It would be easy to dismiss it as the ranting of someone touched by Sheogorath, but Verus didn't think that was it. She was mad, certainly, but he was beginning to suspect that her madness was a created, artificial thing. Perhaps even a curse.

His musings were interrupted when he realized the very object of his contemplation was now staring at him. Verus almost jumped in surprise when he saw Alara's red eyes watching him. He hadn't even noticed her change her position to face him. In as small a room as they were staying in, he should have noticed even the slightest change in her breathing, but there was nothing. It was as if she had simply changed position in a split second while making no noise, which was impossible.

"Is there a problem, girl?"

Alara blinked at his question, and it would be several moments before she would answer.

"Why is it that I can't kill you?"

Now it was Verus's turn to blink. He scrutinized her for several moments, trying to ascertain whether her question had been serious, since the girl had a very strange sense of humor. He finally decided to assume she was, in fact, being serious, and answered in kind.

"Because I'm more skilled than you. You simply don't have the experience necessary to take my life. No matter what you try to do to me, I can stop you."

Alara seemed to ponder on this statement for a moment, before giggling. "Don't be silly. I could have killed you every time you've gone to sleep."

Verus's eyes widened, and he went absolutely still.

The girl continued nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, "But every time I bring my dagger to your neck, I find that I can't bring myself to end your life. I want to see your blood, really I do. But... At the same time, I don't want to. I don't want to listen to the visions. Why? What makes you different from anyone else? I hate you, so I should be able to kill you. You can make the visions go away, that's true, but you also force me to see them when I don't want to. You're trying to kill me, I know it. Why else would you make me see the visions? Don't you know they'll kill me eventually?"

Verus frowned. The girl was being more talkative than usual, but it was almost approaching her insane gibbering. She had been coherent so far though. Perhaps if he kept her talking she might say something with value.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl. Those visions are merely delusions. They can't kill you. And I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to keep you alive; that's why I've taught you all those spells over the past few weeks."

"But if you keep making me see the visions, I'll die. And if they don't kill me, someone else will. I… I don't think I want to die," Alara said as she closed her eyes and turned back around.

"You _don't think_ you want to die? It's absolutely ridiculous to wish for death. Insane, even. All beings hold their own lives as being more valuable than others'. That's simply the nature of existence."

The girl didn't turn back to face him, and for a moment, Verus thought she wouldn't respond. Then, "But if a life is filled with nothing but the killing of others, do you really have a life to begin with? Or are you merely an avatar of death?"

Verus swept a hand through his gray hair, pondering the question. He wondered briefly how he had come to be talking about philosophy with an insane half-breed.

"To answer your original question, girl, perhaps you simply haven't learned how to kill your own conscience yet, if you even have on in the first place. Perhaps that is what keeps you from killing me in my sleep. And as for the last question..."

Verus simply stopped talking, unable to finish his sentence. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if he had truly understood the question in the first place. He had a feeling she was implying more with her words than he understood, and it irked him. To think that he, a master of illusion, couldn't pierce whatever double-meanings were contained in her questions.

The silence would not be broken for the rest of the night, and Verus wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep for that night either, despite Alara not moving an inch after the discussion had ended. Verus had a feeling something profound had just happened, though he had no idea what it had been. Alara merely went back to dreams of fire and blood, and wondered about what the future held for her.

A/N: No combat this time. Instead, a present to you: Plot!


	5. The Fire That Cleanses Hate

**The Fire That Cleanses Hate**

The blade Aurea was a beautiful thing, Alara decided. In fact, she'd go so far as to say she'd never seen such a pretty thing before in her life. The way the fire rippled along the golden-shaded metal as it moved through the air was truly a thing to behold, provided the sword wasn't swinging at you. Which, at the moment, it was.

Alara ducked under the swing and rolled to the right, even as the wielder of the fire-enchanted sword swung in a reverse movement that would hopefully cut the annoying Altmer half-breed in half. To his dismay, Alara actually jumped_ over _the swing instead.

Andaryn was forced to admit that the girl was good. He had yet to land so much as a scratch on her skin, to his own annoyance. Of course, she hadn't been able to hit him either, but that probably had more to do with the large set of armor he was wearing, and less to do with his own skill. The whole situation was made even more insulting by the fact that the girl was wearing a dress while doing all of this. The pureblooded Altmer knight would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he weren't so busy being enraged instead.

Alara jumped backwards just in time to avoid getting her head taken off, and continued her inspection of the curious man in front of her. In contrast to the beauty of the sword, she though the armor he was wearing was simply garish. It covered him from neck to toe, leaving only his head clear for observation. The whole thing was also golden in color, but it looked too dull to Alara. Compared to the sword, it was just another example of Altmer arrogance. "Tell me, is that armor actually made of gold, or is it just gold paint?"

The knight responded by lunging at her, hoping to impale her. Alara, of course, simply danced away from the blow. Admittedly, the fire on the blade made it a bit tricky to avoid, and she was certain that a single hit from it, glancing or not, would probably kill her, but then she also already had plenty of practice dodging weapons. She was just worried that the flames might catch some of the frills on her dress. "Because gold is a terrible metal to use in armor and weapons. It's too soft, you know?"

The pureblood Altmer grunted in annoyance, then tried to strike out again at the half-breed. This time, the tip of the sword came within a few centimeters of Alara's face, and she could almost feel the flames licking at her skin. "Would you _shut up_ and _fight back_, you mongrel of a woman?"

Alara merely smiled slightly in return, before speaking again, mischief in her voice. "Why, how am I supposed to do that when you have all that magnificent armor? Surely a mongrel such as me could only run away in fear from such a big man?"

Indeed, she immediately began running away, forcing the knight to give chase. Unfortunately for him, encumbered by all his armor as he was, he was quickly out of breath and struggling to continue moving, much less keep up with the devil-woman. Forced to stop and recover for a moment, he quickly glanced around at his surroundings, hoping to get his bearings. The woman had already dragged him deeper into the poor section of the city than he had ever been in before, so he already didn't know his way around. The surrounding buildings had been fairly small, however, so he had been able to get a general direction, at least, based on where he was in relation to some of the larger, more famous buildings in Sunhold. It would seem that would no longer be possible, however, since the area he was in was filled with large, decrepit buildings that blocked his line of sight in all directions. In fact, he appeared to be a cross-roads of some sort, but the thing that confused him was that these tall buildings seemed to stretch in every direction down the roads. Which had to be impossible, since he was certain the poor district didn't have this many large buildings.

He shifted to the left, suddenly unsure of what direction he should be facing. Now that he was able to take a good look at his surroundings, he noticed that all of the buildings looked exactly identical. He knew now with certainty that he was under an illusion, since Altmer buildings were simply not made that way. The Imperials might have preferred drab, uniform architecture, but that simply wasn't the way things worked in Summerset. In Andaryn's mind, a person's home was an extension of their personality as well as their wealth and influence. No building should ever be the same as another, just the same as no one person's personality could match another's.

"My, my, look what we have here. A lonely elf that's wandered his way into the darkness."

Andaryn spun around, and quickly found the girl he had been chasing. She had not been the one to speak however, as she was standing behind another figure. The man was relatively short, just barely being of a greater height than the girl behind him. A light red cloak concealed his body, and a hood covered his face. What clothing Andaryn could see underneath the cloak seemed to be of fine make, however, something that only nobility would be likely to wear, and the Altmer instantly recognized that this was probably the man that had caused the illusion he was in.

"Foul magician, release me from this spell immediately, or I will ensure that your death will be even more excruciating than what was originally planned!"

The man merely smiled, and it was now that Andaryn noticed that something was subtly wrong with him. The coloring of his cloak was off. It seemed as though the light shade of the cloak was _shifting_ somehow, and when his eyes drifted away to meet the red orbs of the half-breed girl, his warrior's instincts _screamed_.

To say that Verus was surprised when the idiot Altmer knight spun around and swung his sword at empty air would be an understatement. The only person more surprised was Andaryn himself, especially when his sword met resistance, and the area of space in front of him seemed to unfold, revealing the man that he had thought had still been standing next to the demon-woman. As it turned out, the resistance that Andaryn's blade, Aurea, met was actually the sword of the cloaked man. It was a simple iron blade; a disposable tool for a quick kill. As such, it was no great shock to either man when Andaryn's fiery blade simply cut through Verus's iron weapon with almost no effort

Andaryn wasn't finished, however. When the iron sword was split in two, the Mer didn't stop his swing, as might be expected, but instead continued his rotation, pivoting his body so that he would fully turn in a circle. This meant that the burning blade was now coming in another arc, and Verus had next to no time to react to the movement. The Imperial vaguely saw Alara moving from the corner of his eye, but the majority of his attention was directed at the sword that was coming for his neck. That attention was then shattered when something hard hit him between the eyes. Verus stumbled backwards, and as the small throwing knife tumbled to the ground, Andaryn's sword finished its arc, narrowly missing Verus's head. This did not mean that Verus would escape unharmed, however, as the flames of the sword sprung out to cling to the Imperial's face, burning his flesh for only a moment before the sword moved away.

Verus collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain as the illusion surrounding the three figures shattered into reality. Though the mystical flame had touched his skin for only a few moments, the damage it had done was unmistakable, and would probably leave horrible scarring on his face. Indeed, as is the nature of magical weapons, that scar would probably never fade without powerful healing magic.

Andaryn smirked in victory even as the knife Alara had thrown at her companion clattered noisily to the ground. Andaryn raised his sword for the kill, but when he tried to bring his sword down to slay the blasted illusionist, he found he couldn't. Looking up, he was shocked to find his arms and the entirety of his sword, Aurea, coated in ice. He stumbled backwards, and probably would have fallen, had more ice not formed around his feet and locked him in place.

Meanwhile, Alara had skipped merrily past him and kneeled next to Verus, who was still screaming. She touched him lightly on the shoulder, and he jerked in a sudden moment of pain before collapsing unconscious. The half-breed girl glanced back at the knight, who was now staring at her in disbelief.

"You were capable of using magic of this caliber the entire time, and never used it. Why?" he murmured in an absent-minded tone, as if he still couldn't quite believe that his peerless sword of flames had been silenced by a mere spell.

"I wanted to see what would happen of course. Besides, that sword really is a beautiful thing, and I wanted to see what it would look like with blood on it. A shame that the one strike that would have allowed me to see it also would have killed this fool. Although, I think it looks even prettier coated in ice like that. It's sparkling, see?"

Andaryn refused to dignify that with an answer, and merely gaped in response. This apparently disappointed the half-breed, as she frowned and turned away, looking back down to the unconscious Imperial. She drew back his hood to inspect his face, and Andaryn gasped in surprise.

"He's a human?"

The red-eyed girl glanced back at him briefly. "Yes, that surprised me too. Though, if you spend enough time with them, you learn to deal with their stupidity."

Alara poked the fresh burn wound on Verus's face, and frowned when she got no reaction. "Well, this is boring," she decided.

Apparently having nothing else to say, she picked him up by the arm rather carelessly, and slung the arm over her shoulder. She would have to drag him back to the place they were staying, but this was also a deserted part of the city, so no one would see them. So, she simply started walking away.

Andaryn boggled. She wasn't going to kill him? What was wrong with this girl? As if she could read his thoughts, Alara turned paused and turned slightly to smile at him and wave, before turning a corner around a building that was decidedly different from the odd architecture of Verus's illusions. In fact, had Andaryn been able to turn around, he would have been able to see the tall buildings from deeper in the city that he had been using to navigate. Without the illusion, he would have no trouble finding his way back to the recognizable parts of the city. Unfortunately for him, the ice his arms and feet were encased in was still there, and didn't seem to be melting particularly rapidly.

Humiliation began to burn in his chest even more than it had before, and then and there Andaryn swore he would see both of those scoundrels dead.

A/N: The main purpose of this scene was honestly only to give Alara's personality a bit more time on the screen, so to speak. And, of course, it introduces Andaryn, who may or may not be important later on. On another note, I think I'll put the actual first chapter of the fic up soon, which means this will become a repository for rejected scenes once that happens.


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